Real
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: An alternate take on the infamous badfic My Immortal! AU. Viewer discretion ISN'T advised!
1. I: Meeting Him

**DISCLAIMER: For proper legal emphasis, the ****_Harry Potter _****series is not in my possession; for salvaging the minute popularity I have, Tara Gilesbie's "My Immortal" will NEVER be in my possession.**

* * *

It is another day where she forgets her name. She does not remember much, mind you, yet she always seems to see something ripple. She reaches out for it with too much hope, but pulls back with sad acknowledgement. Her eyes swoon at the sky; dusk melts, dribbling through the cluster of overgrowing tree branches. She blinks around and nods, convinced that it will rain soon.

There has been an unusual amount of rain lately, she realizes, vision fluttering. A river intertwines through the forest, and she reels at what she sees. There is a briny glimmer, a brief glimpse of the rocks—but it is what stares back at her that she truly hates.

Wide eyes, pleading to her. A mop of black hair, entangled with twigs and leaves. There are crops of scratches on her cheeks from being attacked by a few woodland animals. There is only a sharp pang when you prod at them, but they are not as entrenched as the rest of the myriad. On her arms, some pieces of flesh are missing. She is naturally pale, but without the mousy grace. It is disrupted by swelling wounds and scabs that form a trail down her legs. Her only article of clothing is a black dress, but the lace has been ripped and it only bags around her.

_ Not real._

She smiles to herself, threading a hand into her hair. Her fingers comb through it with ease, and she does not feel any deadened knots, but soft, silky coils instead.

_ No—no. It's not. Not. Not real._

She tries to say this, but it comes out garbled. She hears herself perfectly fine, but her hands fly to her mouth and she feels ashamed. It glides into swift anger, and her hands clench into fists. Her face boils, but slowly fades. She staggers up and walks away from the vexing feelings.

Now, back onto the topic of her name. What _was_ her name again? There have been appropriate names before—Cripple, That Thing, It—but she is certain that she is not another That Thing. Her pride won't allow such a name, yet what is left to consider? She first believes it is her dark hair that lends a helping hand, but at birth, it was nonexistent. She was born into darkness, so perhaps it was not the hair, but the _dark_ and its rankling secrecy. At least, she thinks that she was birthed by a tearful mother and held by her joyous father. She _thinks_.

The trees augment ominously as she ventures through. There are certain territories where the dark creeps back, and she has to run away. Tonight, she welcomes it, accepting it like an old and weathered friend at a formal reunion. There is a brief shudder that trickles down her back. Something never seems right about this path, but she can never remember. Never remember—never remember—was that what her name meant? Could there even be anything past the ambiguity?

A bird crows. She pauses, never hearing such a harsh sound before, but when it calls again, she follows the bird. At this point, she is treading with renewed hope. The realization strikes her as dumb, but she is happy to finally hear something different.

_ Different. Different way?_ She runs towards the reverberation. Now and then, she sees the bird circle over her head, and while it is hidden in the trees, its wings are stretched so valiantly. It is a beautiful sight.

It is merely a sight, now, as the confusion of trees closes in and the commonplace shudder molds into panic. Her arms flail around, desperate for something to grasp, something to help guide her out of this trap. She often sees a light flicker before her eyes, as if it was an underwater incandescence. She always seems to see things that constitute as a friendly acquaintance. Normally, she is corrected when she tries to approach it and ends up falling or weeping for a response. However, this light, this extrinsic sight with opposing colors every time, fascinates her greatly.

"That's out! Reel it back!"

No. That doesn't fascinate her; the voice only scares her. The bird is long forgotten and she still cannot see well, but she scrambles back. She trips over a bristling patch of roots, so her best defense is to lay still. Oh, please, make the voice go away!

It is accompanied by a loud _splash_ and a fountain of raucous laughter.

"Draco, that's cheating!"

"When do backwards water chants count as cheating?" A second voice replies coolly. "Does it say in the rules not to use that?"

"He's got a point." Third voice adds with dull chuckling. "Get y'r soddy-head back before the lady bird starts a-crowin'."

"Still—not on the hair next time."

The first voice, the nasally whine, is met with fresh insults and some vulgar expression she cannot understand. She giggles, gnawing on her knuckles. She decides to get up and find a new place to explore. However, only one voice becomes louder, floating over her head with dreamlike lilts. It's as if she feels—

She feels a foot press into her back. An immediate yelp from her causes the foot to stumble back. She lurches, trying to hurl herself off of the ground. She looks around, but there is only one person looming over her.

A hand links onto her wrist, pulling her up. She is predisposed, but is able to steady herself. Her head perks up. Sluices of ice entombed in gray. Almost colorless blond hair. Lips that twitch with many unsaid intentions. She stares with rotund, disbelieving eyes. This is surely the second voice! Nothing screeching or obtuse would fall from such a graceful mouth.

"Mouth," she says. She brings a free hand to his face. She touches his lips once, but pulls away. Although embarrassed, her thumb grazes over her two fingers. They feel softer, now.

Draco studies her for a moment. She is swatting at the hair in her face, mumbling incoherencies. He loosens his grip and steps back. She smiles, although her smile is faulty. _He probably wants to run away, wants to—_

_No!_ Her inner voice retorts, silencing the eerie whisper. _No, he doesn't. Doesn't…dosen…does…_

"You all right?"

She does not look up. She is transfixed on winning her recurring mental argument. Her hand is constantly toying with her hair, so he extends a hand to touch it. He grins when she freezes.

"Rather nice hair. Might want to brush it a little…I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Malfroy."

"No, Malfoy."

"Malfey."

Draco sighs and signals something important with his index finger. "Foy." He stresses. "Draco Malfoy…although, fey isn't far from the truth. What's your name?"

She nods, not wanting to go further than that. She flinches when the question is repeated. He is still stroking her hair, and a pensive smile hooks into his face. "Well, perhaps you have a nickname, something attributed by your physical appearance. Perhaps…your black hair. It looks like trees in these forests."

The forest trees she acquaints herself with are not usually black. They are dappled with sunlight and shy blooms, leaves gossiping amidst the breeze. There is a name that comes to mind, an innate bubble in her mind. She meets his gaze and holds it, letting her hand flutter over her neck.

"E…Eb. Ebony." She says triumphantly.

"Well, Ebony," Draco grins again. "I say that we better get you to the village before another lucky creature finds you."

Flirtatious airs do not linger in her mind, but Ebony takes great joy to his voice and giggles. However, her eyes roam around, searching for the lucky creatures that were with him a minute ago.

"Don't mind them. They went back home. I need to, too, before Miss McGonagall chews my head off for it."

"Go?" Ebony flounders, pointing at herself. "Go?"

"Yes." Draco touches her hand. "Come on."

* * *

**A/N: What am I getting myself into now, you ask? Well, gather 'round, children! Zip it! Listen!**

**While I was working on the next chapter of "tROLLfICdiddlyumptious", I was chatting w/ my best friend again. I jokingly mentioned rewritting everyone's favorite shitfic "My Immortal", which meant turning every shred of slanderous stupidity into legible prose, generally IC situations, and Miss Goffick-of-the-Year being characterized as a disfigured, mentally-challenged woobie...WHAT BLASHPHEMY!**

**At first, my friend wanted to smack the taste out of my mouth for adding logic to this monstrosity, but then she quickly became impressed by how seriously I took this idea. So, I've decided to go through w/ it...yay? I'm trying to write this chapter-for-chapter (FF . net translation of "shot-for-shot"), meaning I have to reread _every. single. chapter._ Plus an original epilogue since Tara left the story hanging on a cliff and someone has to shove it off, right? Right.**

**This will be difficult, and not just b/c I have to reread this reeking pile of extraterrestrial BS again, but ironically, I haven't read any of the "boox" either! I've only got the first two books on my shelf and it's collecting more dust than Ray J's current sex life. Still, I need to spend my Beginner Years here actually writing stories rather than self-trolling myself constantly. This story is AU and I have the HP Wikia site bookmarked, so I think I can bear w/ it.**

**Sooo, this is the first chapter! Be sure to leave a review; I will post the 2nd chapter of TFD tomorrow, and I hope you enjoyed it :D**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**

**(P.S. Before you guys ask, I need to spoil something: no, Draco won't fall in love w/ Ebony and he's not going to be portrayed as the whiny, pussified goffick like he was in Tara's story. Also, I really don't buy into Draco falling in love w/ anyone. Yeah, I know, I need to research this, but Draco is arrogant, cowardly, and pretty cruel...so remind me how that could get him some? I know he gets married and has kids in the end of the series, but I guess I need to *gasp* "red all da boox" to understand how that works. Well, I'm shutting up now! Enjoy~)**


	2. II: Welcome to the Arc

**DISCLAIMER: To err is human...but to write "****My Immortal" ****is completely abhorrent. I forbid it to ever be in my possession. As for possession of the ****_Harry Potter_**** series, well, I shall calmly decline due to not knowing jack-shit about it.**

* * *

The wooden sign creaks in the raspy wind. Vines sag down the chains that are hooked into the sturdy tree. Years of rain-damage has stripped away the ornate patterns, but Ebony's eyes gape at the large lettering: **THE ARC.** **THE ELYSIAN VALLEYS. VILLAGES AT THE END OF THE WORLD; ONLY IF YOU DARE…**

Draco shrugs. "I was hoping for a more _magical_ introduction; but when some of the Mudbloods think a wooden sign is synonymous, it shouldn't be too surprising, should it?"

"Blosso…" Ebony bobbles, pointing at the dark tendrils that curl around the metal links. Her eyes exult when she believes herself to see a covey of pink petals lather amidst the downtrodden scenery. "Blosso!"

Draco gives her a quizzical look, but sees what she is pointing at and nods. "Blossoms." He amends. "Don't worry, we'll work on that. C'mon."

They venture through the woodland corridor, and the dense topiary background begins to dwindle. Ebony looks around timorously and sees someone running through the crooked pattern of trees. Smoke is swelling in the air with no animus, but leisurely intent. Eventually, the new presence expands and the absconding shadow appears in clear eyeshot. It is a young boy who slinks behind another in order to give a quick spook. The sound of laughter causes warmth to brew inside Ebony's temples. Grass prickles from the ground as she and Draco continue their path, and while it is wilting from every footprint, Ebony marvels at the feel of something softer underneath her feet.

Draco stops, causing Ebony to look around for any marauders or vagrants that may be present. Draco laughs at her timidity and whispers, "Ebony…welcome to the Arc."

Ebony inches her head north, and the sight is overwhelming. There are quaint hovels with padded roofs and welcoming doors. Many people are mingling with each other, trading in philosophic murmurs about risks and warning signs for boisterous catcalls and giggles amongst the crowd. There is a modest fire in the epicenter, smoldering within a bulwark of inscribed stones. There are many flashes of light—nameless greens and purples and reds coil into the ashen sky—and Ebony wants nothing more than to feel it dapple the empty paleness of her hands. Back there was an old sign with nothing left to sugarcoat, but whatever synonymous gloom people cited went unnoticed as Ebony goggles at the blithe surroundings.

However, something not-so-blithe approaches them. It is Miss McGonagall, who is cloaked in black and has swept her hair into a pristine bun. When she stops, she disregards Ebony and keeps her focus on Draco. "Where have you been?"

"I found her in the forest," Draco says, quickly constructing a relieved tone and twining his hand into Ebony's. "She looked pretty bad when I found her; I couldn't leave her alone."

"Mm." Miss McGonagall shakes her head, but her eyes look startled when she finally notices the girl. She checks off the many ailments Ebony has under her breath, and crafts a genuine smile onto her face. "Well, I'll see to it that she learns what we're about before the week's out."

"But that's tomorrow." Draco chuckles when she waves a hand at him and frowns. He resigns from Ebony's grip, and watches Miss McGonagall lead her to one of the small houses.

Ebony's hand flexes uncomfortably, to which Miss McGonagall nods and keeps her smile intact. "Ignore him. For a pure-blood that claims to be educated in the arts of spells and witchcraft, he's an addle-minded priss. I'll make sure you feel welcome as long as you listen to what I have to say."

Ebony nods, but her uncomprehending gaze is obvious. As Miss McGonagall reiterates what she just said, they finally reach their destination. Miss McGonagall knocks on the door curtly, to which a breathless voice tells them to come in. She opens the door, and the first thing she and Ebony see is a girl crouched up on the table, scaring away a host of rats with a broom.

"Away wid you!" the girl shouts, twiddling with the broomstick in her hand. At first, she thinks that she's scared them away herself, but Miss McGonagall lets out a loud hiss that causes the rats to skitter away. The girl laughs and hops onto the ground. Ebony sees that she has wild green eyes and frizzled hair with an ungainly shade of purple. "Ha! Thanks, McGonagall. I wish there was a rat-stomping spell, though."

Miss McGonagall snorts and rolls her eyes. "Funny for _you_ to say that when you were quailing on that table just a minute ago."

"Was not! It was just some prestidigitation—hey, who's that?"

"Oh. Willow, this is…"

"Ebony." Ebony squeaks.

"Ebony. Yes. She's new here. Draco found her in the forest all by herself and she doesn't appear to have a background of her own. I don't trust most of these kids here, so can you house her in here until further notice?"

"Sure!" Willow throws an arm around Ebony, causing her to flinch. Willow stops for a moment, and then giggles. "I'm not gonna eat ya!"

"Willow," Miss McGonagall tilts her head, drilling through Willow's shrewd humor. "She's a little timid, so don't scare her, okay?"

Willow gives a mock salute before formally confirming. Miss McGonagall nods, snorting again before shutting the door. Ebony looks around inquisitively. A fireplace flickers in between a sloppy table and a neat bed. An uneaten biscuit lies on a plate, drying out; a glass of water has been spilt onto the unfinished wood. Several elusive baubles are set on the mantel, as well as a thick book with cursive lettering that reads: _To Fight with Words_.

Ebony turns to Willow with a reluctant smile. Willow sighs. "I'm kinda embarrassed that I don't have a bigger bed. Maybe I can sleep under it and you get the mattress. Hey, I've slept under my bed hundreds of times. It's really comfy!"

To emphasize her words, Willow scratches her feet against the floor, drops, and rolls underneath the bed. Ebony chuckles a little, touching her lips when the sound leaves her mouth. Willow peeks her head out, smiling while fingering the oncoming bruise on her head.

"Hey," Willow says languidly, "let's just be honest here. Do you like Draco?"

Ebony does not reply, but she squints in confusion.

"Y'know…have you wanted to kiss him yet? If so, tell me where so I can give you pointers."

Although the words are benign and she still speaks in an undecipherable prattle, Ebony reels from Willow's innuendo, taking an uneasy step back.

"Relax. I'm just kidding." Willow clambers from underneath the bed and jounces onto her feet. She reaches for the book and hands it to Ebony. "We're not having any lessons today, but I figure you ought to read through it in case you want to fit in."

Ebony nods, trying to thank Willow, but only produces thin spittle on her chin. Willow wipes it away and smiles.

"I'm steppin' out to see if Bessel got his tally stuck in the knotholes again." Willow saunters to the door, but spins around with sudden staidness. "The only time these spells can work is if you follow the hand gestures in the book. Just work on speaking them before you point at me and turn me into a frog."

Ebony's lips pucker and she waggles her index finger at Willow, earning a hearty laugh in response.

* * *

Sitting at the table, Ebony does not notice the mottled sunset reflected on the floor. It's surprising how long it has been since Willow set out on her social errand, but Ebony continues to recite the ancient print. She mispronounces several words, but there are some that she succeeds in speaking. However, an eerie feeling worms around her neck when she notices how most of them are torture-inducing spells.

It turns out that the wormy feeling is the fresh air that pours through an open door. Ebony turns around and sees Draco leaning in the threshold. He is grinning solemnly, and in the angled glow of the sun, Ebony feels stony, unable to turn away.

Draco takes this as a good response and enters the house. He slumps onto the bed, feigning fatigue from several duels with his friends. Ebony is unresponsive to any suggestive hints, but Willow's words play in a loop in her head. _Have you wanted to kiss him yet?_ Ebony says nothing.

Draco smirks, "For someone who was enthusiastic about arriving, you sure don't like showing it."

Ebony opens her mouth, but the question is already recognized, so Draco clicks his tongue.

"Let me finish. All I'm saying is you haven't even said hello to anyone else. Are you OK?"

"Um." Ebony replies. "Um…"

"Hey," Draco's voice narrows. "Come here for a moment."

Ebony complies before he finishes, ambling towards him and resting on her knees, listening attentively. Draco's lips briefly curve into a smile, but then he resumes.

"At the end of every week, everyone in the Arc gathers around the fire for a nighttime revelry. We tell old folklore, we play games, and we dance to very fine music; we can even ignite the likenesses of the deceased through the smoke."

Ebony gasps, oohing and ahhing like a child who's fixated on a new fairytale of sorts. Draco pats her cheek, acknowledging her shiver. She looks up at him, blinking bovinely but with anticipation.

"If you'd like…" Draco drawls, "I can escort you, since this is your first revelry here. Most people call it a date, but I prefer to call it platonic recognition."

Ebony is at a loss of words. The many things to say or do flounce across her mind. The only indigenous thing she does is skate her nails across his fingers, intently searching through his blank eyes. However, they both recoil at the sound of glass shattering. Ebony gets up to look through the window. Willow has dropped a bottle and is laughing at how lily-livered her male friends are.

"Bessel and Hagrid," Draco snickers. "Those two are pretty droll, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes." Ebony says. She stands still by the window, but as Draco gets up to approach her, she twirls around and surges forward, wrapping her arms around his back. Draco makes a surprised sound, but falters in return. When Ebony pulls away from him, she says again, "Yes."

"Then I will see you tomorrow. Until then." Draco says gallantly, turning away from her and closing the door. To Ebony, she feels as though she heard a bell ring behind her, and sits down as she hears the queasy reverberation in her head.

* * *

**A/N: An "addle-minded priss"...well, let's add that to the unintentionally-funny insult lexicon! *Le Check***

**Well, I'm glad I finally got this chapter done. I liked the humor that is featured in here, especially the characterization of Willow for some reason. When Tara wrote her in honor of her friend (who, unbeknownst to her, took her sweater~), she tried to write her as a cool goffick friend, but she just annoyed me. Here, she's an obnoxious joker that loves to make people laugh. It just boggles my mind how much I'm altering this disgusting story O.O**

**Aaaand now for a 4th of July announcement: Two days from now, I shall celebrate the 4th of July by posting four—yes, ****_four_****—fanfics in one day. I will have the 3rd chapter of "Real" posted by then, and I will also post the 3rd chapter of "tROLLfICdiddlyumptious" (or TFD, if you want to abbreviate it), the 2nd chapter of "A Sister's Heart", and a one-shot that analyzes the truth behind...a rather...****_ubiquitous _****teen novel Saga. That's all I'll say.**

**So, with that out of the way, be sure to leave a review, telling me what you think so far! Good night, and good luck~**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


	3. III: Breathing in the Fireside

**DISCLAIMER: Unless you really wanted me to be strapped to a medical table and force-fed dandelions and broccoli, "My Immortal" is not in my possession, and neither is the popular book series it is based off of.**

* * *

Ebony is unsure if she's onto something about Draco. She stands before a body-length mirror, restlessly tugging at the bristling patches of lace around her collarbone. Willow had a flash of inspiration earlier and decided to lend one of her formal dresses to Ebony. The one Ebony wears is a dusty brown and while the eyelet pattern is askew, it doesn't droop around her slender form like her own does.

Running a hand through her hair, Ebony nods. She is fairly impressed by her handiwork, using Willow's hairbrush to delve into incessant knots that have nested in too well. She touches a few thin tangles, but disregards them as they appear to be unnoticeable. Ebony twists her hands, trying to recall the foreign hand that graced her face yesterday. The memory reaches anticlimax when she remembers Willow's jeers and hoots outside.

She turns away from the mirror and glances at the door. No Draco yet. _He's not going to show up._ Ebony shakes her head. _No, he won't._ The look in Draco's eyes, the evasive hug—_Don't kid yourself, now._

Outside, she can hear the clumsy twangs of lutes being tuned. She circles around the room, holding her elbows in. The fireplace cackles with fresh flames. Last night, while Willow vocally dreamt of something lewd and maundering, Ebony slinked out of her bed to rest by the gated warmth. It was not a soothing sight; the molten glow that highlighted her blotched skin appeared to be scathing, but Ebony found comfort in this and curled up like an obedient cat.

At the thought of this, she is whisked away to dreams of vehement rapture, of seeing him smile with genuine feelings without the threat of her roommate pouncing onto her and dragging her back down with a loud wake-up drill. Ebony's dreams are elementary, nothing more than chaste wishes of touching his hands and staring into his eyes. _The playground lusting_, Willow described it. The word itself, _lust_, does not seem to fully characterize how she feels. Ebony knows there is something to reach for, something that is illegibly intriguing in the depths of her brain; but it sounds like a trivial roll of the tongue. No word can properly define her feelings without sounding too artificial. This is not artificial, this is—

_Stop it now. This was never real. You don't even know what it is._

The voice, unfortunately, is real. Ebony remembers waking up, seeing the enthralling white light, but the blackness crept into her mind and whispered: _Go back to sleep._ Ebony did not, but after that moment, the rest is sprouting weeds. She never remembers the first time someone hit her, or the first time someone insulted her. She does not even remember what she just ate. The eerie voice is permanent, though, and she confides in it when the hatred becomes too much to handle.

_Why don't you ever listen to me? Are we not friends? Is that it?_

"Don't."

_Have I never been around enough, cleaning up your messes?_

"Don't."

_You don't even want to answer. The more I talk, the less you do likewise. The more I try to warn you, the more you bleed. Why can't you just stop bleeding? Why? Why!_

Faint knocking, a murmur: "Ebony?"

Ebony winces, realizing her hand is hovering too close to the fire. She pulls back, ambles to the door, and is greeted by Draco's bewildered smirk. He sees the reddish burn on her palm.

"I see you've attempted the fireside spell, too?" he asks indubitably. She blinks and remembers him mentioning something about smoke shape-shifting, but doesn't remember there being a spell like that mentioned in the book.

Sensing this, Draco eyes her. "You don't have to learn it in a book. You just point at the flames and say whatever comes to mind. How? By taking _these_."

Draco rummages through his pockets, and pulls out a small burlap bag. Ebony opens it. Inside are various narcotics and nameless chunks of meat. The smell is egregious, and Ebony knits the bag closed.

"The trick is not to take any before the party, otherwise the effect wears off and you become too exhausted to do anything." Draco puts them away and gently touches the tip of Ebony's nose. "Also, try not to take them both at once. The meat is to lessen the morning-after hangover before it starts; the narcotics are for…well, you know."

Ebony nods. The sun is declining into the west, but the gleam is subdued. Draco angles his head, but pulls back vexingly.

* * *

The throngs of people are audacious, gossiping and driveling about seemingly cretinous things. The food and drink are plentiful, as well as the smoke that dances over Ebony's head. The music consists of lutes, drums, and woodwind instruments. The songs they play are cantankerous, failing to achieve any euphonic effect.

Ebony's foot pumps up and down rhythmically, and she is able to snap her fingers to the music. Draco lingers close to her, searching through the party with hawk-like eyes. He sees two men crowding around Willow, and pats Ebony's back. "I want you to meet my friends."

Draco advances towards them, but stops when he sees Ebony balking, staying where she is. He smiles, and she thaws palpably.

"Don't be afraid. They're good guys." Draco cajoles, pulling out the bag again. "However, now would be a _really_ good time to eat some of the meat. They don't take no for an answer."

Ebony accords, taking out two pieces of meat-chunk. She tosses them into her mouth, swallowing quickly when two men approach them. One of them is portly and very tall, donning a crisp beard; the other is much thinner and has a hooked, warty nose.

"Draco, who's this fine, fancy bawd?" the thin one says, laughing with inebriated stupidity.

The other one slaps the back of his head with a goodnatured laugh. "Bessel! That's no way to introduce y'rself, we're not at y'r mother's house. Sorry about that. I'm Hagrid. You've met the Arc Asswit already. So, who are you?"

"Ebon…Eb-E-Ebony." Ebony's response is bilious, as the taste of the meat is taking effect. Everything feels numb, and she can hardly hear Willow's thunderous footfalls towards Bessel, or her knocking him to the ground.

"You're it!" Willow chortles, sloshing a glass of wine onto his hair. Bessel jerks upward and glares at her. Willow, hopping in place, grins at Ebony. "This is the game we play. I dare him to drink more wine than me, and whoever wins is it!"

"Really?" Ebony falters.

"Well," Bessel touts, stretching his arms, "I'm not a braggart or anything; but I can drink circles around most people. Well, Hagrid, no, but still."

Draco laughs, walking to a nearby table and snatching a bottle of rotgut. "I bet Ebony could uphold the champion's position."

Several bemused sounds bubble up. Bessel narrows his lips, and looks at Ebony. Every thorough blemish is evident on her, and she is hardly able to say her own name. Bessel nods. "Alright. Bottoms up."

Hagrid offers Ebony his glass, and she swigs it down. Bessel rolls his eyes, and takes two shots instead of just one. He wipes his lips and smirks. Ebony looks at the bottle and reaches for the skinny neck. She takes a whiff of the stale, fruity scent, and drinks from the source. Bessel's eyes widen as Ebony throws her head back, finishing the rest of it in two minutes straight. When she is finished, she dimly espies Bessel's shocked face.

"That. Is. _Impossible!_" Bessel flails his hands around indignantly. "Not even a full bag of meat-chunks can help me drink the whole bottle!"

Willow shrieks with glee, holding Ebony's arm up. "We have a winner!"

Some passersby cheer while Bessel, who huffs with frustration, claps as well. Hagrid is staring at the bottle, swishing it around and downing it to salvage any abandoned droplets.

Ebony feels Willow tug her somewhere. Willow is dragging her to the fire, and she stops to marvel at it wistfully before smiling darkly at her friend. "However, there is one more competition I want to see you pull off: the fireside chant. You take three—only three!—of the narcotics and let fly. I, myself, am a braggart and will admit that I've conjured up some vulgar things. Let's see you do the same!"

"That's your cue," Draco whispers. He takes out the bag again and places several polychromatic tablets into Ebony's hand. Ebony gulps them, and something _stops._

Everything around her braids together, rippling with wondrous colors. Zealous thoughts rush through her head, talking perpetually of lust and silliness and what it was like to touch the fire. _Touch the fire._

"Touch fire." Ebony says effetely, twisting her head towards Willow. "Touch fire."

"Alright, then!" Willow cracks her knuckles, pursing her face in concentration. She mumbles disjointedly, waggling her fingers, and then shouts. The likenesses of several little children burnish the listless smoke. Willow bumps her heels together to the sound of the impressed audience. "Beat that."

Ebony takes a clumsy step forward. Several jeers delve through the anticipating silence. Ebony closes her eyes, and she feels her jaw pop at each movement. She is saying something, but it is inaudible to her. However, her throat feels raw and the scream she lets out is heard, but smothered. The flames flare up and smoke surges from the pit. Ebony opens her eyes and anxiously discerns the crowd. There are a few frightened expressions, but they are directed toward the constructed visage. Ebony glances upward, and is fascinated by what she sees: it is a young girl, petite and faceless, who slowly dissolves from the feet up.

The crowd roars, plaudits and hoots mixing together in a loud coda. The sudden return to reality startles her, making her disproportionate. Willow gapes at the image, clapping avidly and hugging Ebony. "That was amazing! I had no idea you could do that!"

"Ne…I." Ebony muffles against Willow's neck. Willow releases her, but pulls Draco over to her. She whispers something, he replies with a laugh, and winks at Ebony before leaving.

The music recurs, but with an enervated descant. Draco pulls Ebony into his arms. She is stiff and awkward, almost unable to move or drag her feet along with his. However, he leads civilly, not becoming exasperated at her little mistakes.

"I'm glad you didn't tell her that I gave you five tablets instead of three," Draco comments wryly. Ebony lays her head on his shoulder, but pulls back, as if requesting permission. Draco purrs, "You can be so timid, sometimes."

Ebony rests her head again, breathing thickly. She sees other girls dancing with specific men, and she feels ashamed when she notices how agile they are compared to her. However, she does not think about that. She recalls the girl that appeared in the smoke. Why were so many people so frightened when she arrived? As Ebony ponders this, another question is brought to light: When she saw the nameless girl disappear, why was there a twinge of joy in her head?

The fire that burnt Ebony this morning did not hurt as much. However, something about pain allures her. It does not feel like anything; Ebony sees it as a brief prick, like being vaccinated. When the fireside grew monstrous and the girl appeared, Ebony felt an urge to see her get hurt, too, just to see how she would react.

Lost in translation, blissfully uncollected, Ebony does not notice Draco and her inching away from the crowd and further into the forest.

* * *

**A/N: Well, the 3rd rewritten chapter of MI is here already! Surprisingly, this isn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Both settings in the stories are downtrodden, but hers is based off of an imaginary, goffick smutland whereas mine is a shoddy village that lives off of dark spells. Dignity, I has none.**

**Well, hopefully, you all liked it! I also posted a one-shot based off of the infamous Twilight Saga, so be sure to check that out, too. Reviews are much appreciated and I hope you enjoy the 4th of July! To anyone that doesn't celebrate it...I still have cupcakes! *people le throw cupcakes at me***

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


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